


After Dark

by BWPR



Category: 13 Ghosts - Fandom, Thir13en Ghosts (2001)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fear Play, Ghosts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:41:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23221897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BWPR/pseuds/BWPR
Summary: Alex came everyday that summer, rain or shine. Horace should've found it odd or annoying, the invasion of his space, the way she just granted herself permission to be everywhere, but he didn't. The junkyard seemed more alive with her here; it certainly wasn't quiet anymore. Even though she didn't know he was there, it made him feel like she was there just to spend time with him.
Relationships: Juggernaut | Horace Mahoney/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15





	After Dark

Horace had been working on a car in the garage when he heard the commotion. It had been a nice summer's evening, and he was using the extra sunlight to keep working on his current project. It had been peaceful this season; while some kids still dared to enter during the day time to time, they were smart enough not to at night. He was the ghost story of his home town, the murderous junkyard freak who had to be put down. While he had been careful to never leave evidence of his continued existence in the beyond, anyone who got lost in the junkyard at night still just disappeared without a trace. He didn't know why the anger was so much worse at night, but he did know that anyone stupid enough to come seeking a ghost was going to find one.

What drew his attention this time was the additional sound of barking and whimpering; his dogs. They had been his only comfort when he was alive and that was still true now that he was dead. They weren't the same dogs, of course, as the dogs he had when he had been alive had been put down right after him. Instead, these dogs were the latest round of strays with nowhere to go, but they had been here for years. He thundered through the maze of cars and metal scraps until he came to the entrance. The rusty chain holding the gate shut had been broken, and there was a small group of people. He couldn't tell if they were high schoolers or college kids; it made no difference to him. He had just been mildly peeved at their intrusion in the first place, but now he was angry. These people dared to break into his home and then throw rocks at his dogs. There was five of them, the two boys who were throwing the rocks and the three girls with them, cheering them on, calling his dogs flea-ridden mutts. All three of his pets were helpless, cornered and docile as they were. He was almost upon them, ready to break every single bone in their bodies, when something, someone, made him pause.

"What the fuck do you guys think you're doing!" a new voice screamed, causing both the rock throwing and Horace to come to a halt. It was a girl, who was now storming past the gates with a fury he'd never seen in another person before. She had no problem pushing past them and putting herself between the group and his dogs. She looked fierce, all but snarling at the teens, her curly hair frizzy all around her from the summer humidity. She wore black flip flops, black shorts, and a deep green T-shirt; she seemed so normal for someone with such a large presence. She was attractive, yes, but he was still irritated that another person was in his space.

"We were just-"

"Just abusing some poor dogs? Get the fuck out of here before I call the cops!" she cut them off viciously. She even went as far as to pull out her phone.

"Chill out-"

"Hello, I'd like to report-"

"We're leaving! Calm down you crazy bitch!" one of them yell as they scrambled for the exit, panicking at the idea of being there when the police showed up. She put the phone back in her pocket the moment they were out of sight, and it was clear that she had never called the cops in the first place. She moved fast, shutting the gate behind the group as if to stop them from reentering.

"Hey there, you guys okay?" she cooed, kneeling a few feet from his still shaking dogs. She held out a hand and waited patiently, silently, for the dogs to calm down. His oldest dog, a rottweiler mix by the name of Billie, was the first to approach the woman cautiously. When it became apparent that the girl wasn't a threat, Billie didn't hesitate to rub her head against the proffered hands, asking for pets. His other two dogs, Bluebell and Darcy, were pitbull mixes from the same litter, and they followed Billie's lead once they became jealous of all the attention they weren't receiving. Seeing that his dogs were safe, he allowed himself to calm down, observing what this woman would do next. His dogs glanced around, clearly aware that he was near but unable to tell where. It was odd, animals could sense him and hear him, but they couldn't see him.

"Aww, such good babies," she laughed as she was almost knocked over by the energetic pups, "Those mean people didn't hurt you, did they?"

"Shit," she muttered as she discovered some deep scrapes on both of the pitbulls, their thin fur not protecting them very well from the rocks like Billie's thicker fur had.

"Come on, is there anyone taking care of you?" she asked as she moved to enter the maze that was the junkyard. His dogs didn't hesitate to follow her, taking the lead and guiding her through the rows until they reached the center; his house and garage.

"Hello? Anyone here? Your dogs are hurt!" she called out as she knocked on the door. When there was no response, she cautiously tried the handle, opening the door upon finding it unlocked. She looked into the house from the doorway, way of crossing into someone's home without permission. The dogs had no such issue, barreling into the house as they raced towards the water bowls.

"I guess no one's home," she muttered to herself, stepping back while still looking inside his house. While it was small and rather bare, he still kept it clean even while in death. He just couldn't bring himself to let his house fall into disrepair.

"It's getting dark. But I can't just leave them like this, those wounds could get infected," she stressed aloud, clearly talking to herself, "I'll just patch them up, leave a note, and deal with the consequences later." She took off her sandals before entering his house, something he greatly appreciated. Most people nowadays didn't have manners anymore, but he found that he could forgive the intrusion in light of her respectfulness. She went straight for the bathroom, grabbing a washrag and some gauzes. She soaked the rag in hot water, using it to gently clean any dirt off the scratches on Bluebell and Darcy. She fed them some treats from the container on the kitchen counter to keep them from shying away as she worked.

"Who would ever hurt you sweeties, look at how gentle you are!" she praised, the dogs perking up even more at the affectionate tone. After the scratched were clean, she wrapped them in gauzes loosely. Even he could tell that the coverings wouldn't last long against how active the pitbulls were, but he applauded her for trying anyway. She quickly put everything back where she found it, scribbling a quick note on the notepad he still had hanging on the fridge. He followed her as she walked out of the house, the dogs yet again following their savior. They guided her through the maze again until they were back at the entrance.

"I'll come back tomorrow, check on you guys and meet your owner in person, okay?" she promised as she opened the gates again and walked through them, shutting them behind her. He watched her walk away, into the sunset, until she was out of sight. He slowly made his way back to his house, his dogs following him as he reconsidered all the events of the day. He found himself eager to see what she had written.

"Hello,

I hope you don't mind that I entered your home without permission; some kids were being cruel earlier and injured your dogs. I cleaned them up and bandaged them, but they should probably still get checked out by a vet. If you would like to press charges, I'd be happy to give a description of the people responsible to the police.

My name is Alex Darrling, and here's my number if you or the police would like to contact me: xxx-xxx-xxxx"

"Alex Darrling," he hums as he reads her name, saying it aloud as if to get a feel for it. He was startled to realize how long it had been since the last time he'd spoken. Horace hadn't met someone like her in a long time, the last person being his father. Someone who could be so protective and fierce while also being gentle and kind. Her name suited her in every way, he determined.

That night the same two boys from before broke back in, either drunk or high from the way they swayed. He watched sadistically as they got lost, beginning to cause sounds and watching them panic. He didn't hesitate to make them suffer after he hunted them down, breaking their spines before breaking them into pieces. It was pure karma as he fed the pieces to his dogs, the same ones they had brutalized.

The Darrling girl stayed true to her word, returning the very next afternoon. He had been waiting by the entrance for the past few hours, giving up on any pretense of working on his project when he found himself unable to focus at all. He had even left the chain off the gate just for her. She seemed wary of entering the maze this time, with no dogs to guide her. After their rough encounter the day before, he had left them by the house to rest, not wanting them out in the junkyard where they would eventually get dirt on their scrapes. She was prepared today, flip flops replaced by boots and a satchel thrown across her shoulder.

"Okay, easy-peasy Alex, you've got this," she pep talked to herself as she started into the rows of cars. He sighed as she immediately made a wrong turn, becoming lost in the maze. He whistled for the dogs after awhile of watching her only grow more frustrated, knowing that she couldn't hear him.

"Puppies!" she cheered as the dogs came tearing around a corner, enthusiastically greeting their new friend once they set eyes on her, "How did you know I was here?" After five minutes or so of petting the dogs until they had calmed down enough, she let the dogs lead her back to his house. On the door of his house, he had let a note. It had been necessary to break out the old typewriter in order to write it, as his hands were too large to use the pencils laying around.

"Hello,

Thank you very much for taking care of my dogs. I'm not worried about the kids breaking in again, but thank you for the offer. As I can't afford to take my dogs to the vet, I would greatly appreciate it if you would continue to come and check in on them. Just be careful not to stay too late, the junkyard is impossible to navigate in the dark."

"Hello?" she called out, knocking on the door of the house after read his note. When there was no answer, she yet again tried to the doorknob, finding it unlocked again. After checking on the dogs and finding them to be in good health, she used the opportunity to wander around the junkyard. He followed behind her, amused as she searched for him, not knowing that he was right there beside her.

"Hello!" she called out into the rows of cars, though she didn't exactly seem like she was expecting a response.

"Maybe he isn't here during the day?" she mused, beginning to follow her footsteps in the dirt back to the house.

"I mean, I basically have his permission to be here," she decided as she reached the house again, hesitating before looking into the garage.

"No surprise, he fixes up cars," she chuckled, appreciating his work without touching. Eventually she grew bored, resigning herself to the rocking chair outside the house.

"It's so quiet here, you can't hear anything from the road," she realized, apparently just listening to the wind as it howled through the stacks. And he found himself taking a seat next to her on the ground, closing his eyes and letting the silence settle around them. When he opened his eyes, he found himself looking over at her. Due to his height, even sitting on the ground while she was in a chair, they were eye to eye. It was oddly nice, being around someone like this. He'd been alone here for so long, it was tempting to never let her leave. But Alex didn't deserve that, to be trapped here against her will because of something she couldn't understand.

From the satchel, she pulled out a small device and put it on the rusty table next to her. He was confused as to what it was until it started playing music; it was a speaker. He didn't know how she was controlling it with her phone, but he guessed that it was some development in technology that he had missed. He wasn't sure what to expect from her, but the music she played wasn't it. Some songs were so old that he's sure his dad would've recognized them, some were on the radio while he was growing up, and the rest were newer. There was no trend in what kind of music she played; she apparently listened to every genre. Some songs didn't have vocals and others were in another language completely. While he didn't exactly understand the appeal of music that you couldn't sing alone to, she seemed rather content.

They spent the rest of the evening like that, listening to her music together. Alex would sometimes get up and check on the dogs, sometimes she would grab the speaker and they'd go on another walk of the junkyard, sometimes she'd be engrossed in the book she also brought with her, and sometimes she would be playing games on her phone. It only dawned on him after a few hours of this that she was trying to wait for the owner of the house to show up, but obviously that wasn't happening. She heeded his words though from his note, and left just as the sun was setting.

Alex came everyday that summer, rain or shine. It was always around noon when she would arrive, and she always left before it got dark. It took her awhile, but eventually she could navigate the maze of rows pretty well. She had gotten to the point where she would just hang out inside his house if it was too hot or if it was rainy. He should've found it odd or annoying, the invasion of his space, the way she just granted herself permission to be everywhere, but he didn't. She even started bringing food with her. At first it was just a few bags of fast food, then it was lunchboxes, then premade meals, and then she even started just storing food in his fridge. The junkyard seemed more alive with her here. It certainly wasn't quiet anymore; between the dogs and her music and her singing and her talking. Even though she didn't know he was there, it made him feel like she was there just to spend time with him. Horace could just sit there for hours, watching her do homework or read or watch a show on was apparently a computer nowadays.

But then one day, later in the summer, probably sometime in early August, something was wrong. Even though she smiled at the dogs and played with them for a bit, and even though they went on their usual walk, she just didn't seem like herself. There was no thinking out loud, there was no humming or music or singing, there was none of the small things that he had come to associate with Alex.

"I'm going to miss this place," she muttered softly to herself, wiping at eyes that were beginning to shine with unshed tears. And he froze, not knowing what to think. Was she leaving? How could she just leave him, leave his dogs, leave the junkyard behind? Hadn't she been happy here, hadn't it been a home for her? He couldn't stop himself from roaring as the anger overtook him as it always has. He had been a moron to think that this could last forever, that she cared about this junkyard, that she cared about him. She didn't even know he was there! She looked wary, pausing in her stride, clearly feeling that something was wrong in the air even as she had no idea that he was fuming beside her. Even she would be afraid of him, he realized. Even his Darrling would scream and run away if she knew.

He reached out as if to touch her, the only thing he could do, but she had begun to move again.

"Oh shit," she muttered again, and it took him a moment to realize why. They had been walking longer than either of them had realized, and the sun was disappearing behind the stacks fast as it made it's descent through the sky; it was getting late and thus dark. It was no wonder the rage had come to him so fast and suddenly. She turned around and began to jog, making a beeline for the exit. However, the vision of her running from him triggered something instinctive in him, something primal. It was the same thing that happened when he locked onto someone to kill. He began to pursue her as if she was someone to be hunted, someone to break. She glanced behind her, something like panic on her face as she looked for the source of whatever ill intent she was feeling. The wind was picking up, howling through the stacks as the cars groaned in agony. It took little effort on his part to push the first stack of cars over, blocking the next row that she had been intending on using to get out of the maze. There was something like horror on her face as she watched the huge stack of cars fall into her path, moving back to distance herself even though she hadn't been in danger of getting crushed. She began to run now, turning down another path that would lead her back to the house. Another stack of cars fell behind her as he realized she intended to hide in his own house from him.

"Hello! Help!" she screamed at she reached the clearing in the middle of the junkyard where the house and garage were. Of course there was no one who could answer her call, there never had been. As she moved to open the door to his house, he appeared beside her, slamming the door closed before she could get inside. She jumped back, startled. It was easy to reach out and grab her, picking her up and slamming her harshly against the very door she had been trying to use. She looked dazed for a moment, the breath clearly knocked out of her, before she began to look around frantically. He carefully tightened his grip, feeling skin bruise and bones creak under his strength. She winced and gasped, but she didn't scream or struggle like his victims normally did. Instead, she called out hesitantly.

"Hello? Is anyone there?" Like that, he snapped back to himself. He had been moments away from hurting his Darrling, from killing her just like all the others. He had done the one thing he had promised himself that he would never do; hurt her. He gently lowered her back to the ground, removing his grip from her altogether. He stepped back, one foot after the other, until she was a safe distance away. She stood frozen there, leaning against the door to his house as she tried to process what was going on, of what to do next. He could hear the dogs inside the house going crazy, barking fiercely as they scratched at the door.

"Run," he murmured, and as if she could hear him, she did. He followed her carefully as she tore through the maze until she reached the entrance, something combination of heartache and guilt and regret and despair weighing on him heavily. He watched as she ran through the gates, only stopping on the other side of the road to look back one last time, something like misery on her face, before she continued running.

Alex didn't return the next day, or the next week, or the next month. August gave way to September which gave way to October. Everyday around noon he found himself at the entrance, waiting to see her walk through the gates as if she owned the place, but she never had. At least until the day she did. It was late October when she returned. It was a colder Autumn day, clouds blocking all the sunshine and just waiting to rain down upon them. At first he had thought his mind had been playing tricks on him as a familiar figure appeared on the other side of the road from the gates. She was wearing those same boots from before, now with jeans and a coat, but he would know her anywhere.

She came closer, stopping right outside the gates that hadn't been opened such she ran through them all that time ago.

"Hello?" she calls out, and he wonders what she expects. It hurts him to see her like this, so wary of entering a place she once used to find solace in.

"Hello? Are you there?" she tries again, and he realizes that she's trying to talk to the ghost that haunts this place; him.

"Please, answer me, show me a sign, anything," she pleads, and he approaches until he's up against the fence. She's never felt so far away. And he can't make her see him, doesn't want her to see him. He doesn't want to scare her again. So he doesn't made a sound, just watches as she eventually sighs and walks away. She looks back again before she disappears from view, and he doesn't understand the determined look on her face.

______________________________________________________________

"What's going on? You said that you were going to help me figure out who is haunting this place!" Alex accused as she returned to the junkyard that night to find it crawling with people in protective gear. She addressed the man she had sought out previously about the supernatural, Cyrus. He had been so helpful in explaining the differences between the facts and fiction in regards to ghosts, and she had eventually come to trust him enough to describe her ordeal in the junkyard. But clearly, he wasn't here to help her like he had claimed.

"Ah, Ms. Darrling. Lovely to see you again. I guess I don't have to seek you out to thank for leading me to my final catch," he sneered coldly, seeming nothing like the kind older gentleman he had been pretending to be.

"Catch?" she questioned, hoping that she had misheard him.

"I already know who's here, girl. I'm here to catch him. Don't get in my way," he threatened, before turning to the other man, who was now doubled over in pain, "Is it bad tonight, Rafkin?"

"Bad is one way of describing it, but somehow insane seems more appropriate," he explained through his shakes before he began dry heaving, "It's my professional opinion that we get the hell out of here. Now!" And she believed him. Just like before, the maze of cars seemed sinister in the dark, and the wind was picking up, creating a howling that sent shivers down her spine. When Cyrus turns to address the assistant that comes forward with an update, the other man, Rafkin?, tries to take some type of medication, only for the older man to knock it out of his hands. She helps the poor guy in gathering up the dropped pills as he pleads with his boss to take the edge off.

"Now where is he?" And she doesn't really understand why Rafkin is here until he reluctantly places a bare hand on the ground. He immediately begins seizing, his hand flying off the soil like it burned him.

"There's got to be over forty victims here! I thought you said this guy only killed twenty people!" he accuses, looking horrified and sickened. She hadn't really believed Cyrus about psychics, but here one was right in front of her and she didn't know what that meant. And it's like her fears about the ghost she encountered were realized, the body count taking her breath away.

"Twenty when he was alive, he's added a few more since then. Now where's the Breaker, Dennis?" And in lieu of a reply, the man just points into the auto graveyard, and she knows in her gut that he's pointing to the center where the house lies. Location now determined, Cyrus begins to shout orders into a headset. The people suddenly jump to attention, setting up unfamiliar equipment all around them. What really catches her eye is the glass cube they set up. It's a beacon in the darkness, glass glimmering with white latin inscriptions that almost glow gold in the lighting. It makes her stomach twist uncomfortably, but she doesn't understand why.

"Here, put these on later," Dennis whispers as he slips her a pair of weird glasses, which she hastily stuffs into her coat pocket, "You should get out of here."

"Why are you doing this? I didn't mean for this to happen, I just wanted to talk to whoever was here," she rambles almost hysterically, guilt settling heavy in her mind. She hadn't meant to put anyone in danger, hadn't meant to interfere with the spirit that resided here.

"I don't hurt anyone, I'm just here for my paycheck," he asserts, confident even though he avoids meeting her eyes. And she wants to hate this man, but she can't. Even now that he's been able to medicate himself, he still twitches and his eyes still roll back every now and then. He flinches away whenever she gets too close to physically touching him, and he looks miserable. This is the only job this man can really do without being considered a freak.

"So where'd he get a name like the Breaker anyway? Is he a truck driver or something?" Dennis asks impulsively when Cyrus suddenly turns his attention back to them.

"It's simple folklore at work, the locals telling ghost stories. Or maybe it's because he broke his victims into as many pieces as possible. Who's to say?" With that, Cyrus begins to walk away, Dennis following behind him quickly. She remains next to the fancy car hesitantly as they argue with some couple his henchmen drag forward, but they're too far away for her to hear them over everything else. She slips on the glasses when she sees everyone else do the same. It isn't long before a semi comes thundering down the aisle they were in, spraying a red mist onto the stacks of cars on either side, all the way up to the cube. The smell of metal and meat hits her nose, causing her to gag as she realizes what they just sprayed everywhere; blood.

There's a high pitched whine that startles her, but as it morphs into a loop of latin chanting, she realizes that something is happening. Men begin to run, and a roar from the heart of the graveyard causes her to quake. Even over the chanting she can hear the crashes of metal as stacks of cars fall and the screams of the people unlucky enough to end up under them. She's frozen, leaning against the expensive car, as the sounds only get closer. Suddenly, Dennis is there, grabbing her arm with gloved hands and pulling her along with him as he runs towards the exit.

"Cyrus, the spells aren't working!" he screams into his microphone, but no one listens. They pass some people running the opposite direction, and they don't understand why they're running further into the maze when they see it. Walking down the center of the path was something that was once a man, carrying a car over his head as if it weighed nothing. And something like certainty settles over her as she witnesses her ghost for the first time.

He's a huge man, towering over everyone at about seven feet tall. His skin is the same grey she associates with corpses, and his hair is stark white against it. He's wearing an old mechanic's uniform with some sort of name stitched into it, but she can't read it from this distance. His facial features are gaunt, and his snarl only pulls the skin tighter. The most striking thing about him though is the bullet holes. His torso, arms, and even face are riddled with them. Even before his death the man was a monster if it took that many rounds to put him down. From this distance, his eyes are just sunken black holes in his face, but for some reason she can almost feel his gaze like a physical touch.

Her and Dennis watch in slow motion as he brings the car down on a man that had been crawling away. It breaks whatever trance they had been in rather harshly. They turn around and run towards the direction they had just come, tearing down the passage with the rest of the crew towards the cube. They're almost home free when, all of a sudden, someone hits her from the side, tearing her hand from Dennis's as she falls. She goes down hard, her momentum carrying her forward still as she slides in the mud and into the cube. The crewmember who ran into her remains unmoving on top of her as he gets his bearings. She doesn't know what's going on, but she knows that the last place she wants to be is inside this cube. The man above her begins to scramble, only serving to hit her in the head with his elbow and knee her in the back as he begins to scream. It takes her breath away, makes her eyes water, and she's dazed momentarily.

The next thing she knows, the door to the cube is sliding shut behind her, and the weight of the man is suddenly lifted completely off of her. She doesn't know how she knows to just keep her face down and covered, but she does as she hears the sound of flesh colliding sickenly with the glass walls, as she feels the warm blood splash down on her from above, as the man's screaming goes suddenly silent. There's a tearing sound as the man, who she can only hope is dead, is torn to pieces. She keeps waiting for the Breaker to turn his attention to her next, but he's too occupied with thundering on the walls of the chamber, of the cage. She dares to open her eyes, but it doesn't do any good. The once clear glass was now smeared red with blood, obstructing her view of the outside. And it wasn't like she could hear anything over the roaring of the ghost. So thus she just lays there, covered in blood that had now gone cold and was thickening rapidly, playing possum. She swears her heart stops when everything just suddenly goes silent. She tries to play dead, but she's horrified to find that she can't stop shaking with silent sobs. Hands appear under her arms as she's suddenly hoisted up into the air like a child before she's forced against a wall. It's just like before, but this time she's completely aware of what this thing is capable of. She keeps her eyes screwed shut, the childish notion that if she can't see it, it can't hurt her the only thing she has left. But after a few seconds go by and she still finds herself in one piece, she tentatively squints an eye open. His face is right there, looming only inches away. It is the last thing she sees before she faints.


End file.
